


Synopsis: The Messenger

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Meta, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-31
Updated: 2003-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:13:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Synopsis: The Messenger

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

The Messenger

**THE MESSENGER**

Imagine.... what would happen if Immortals refused to play the Game? If they all threw down their swords and 'gave peace a chance?' 

Richie meets an Immortal who claims to be Methos. Rich never met the real Old Guy so he accepts this one as the genuine article. However, it's Methos's message-not his name-that attracts Richie. Stop the fighting. End the killing. Live together in peace. Starting now. Yeah! 

Richie's hooked, (he never enjoyed the beheading part of immortality, anyway). But, he cannot understand why MacLeod is not gung ho to march with him in the peace parade. He's seen how Mac treasures life, hates the killing.... so what's his problem? 

Mac explains that disarming yourself is not possible as long as truly evil people exist. It doesn't matter why they became evil. They must be seen for what they are and dealt with accordingly. Negotiation is impossible. Evil must be eradicated. Lowering your guard against evil only gets you killed. 

Mac agrees with the philosophy of Edmund Burke: 'The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.' 

Nevertheless, for Richie's sake, contemplates it. Not for long. 

_New Characters:_

**THE MESSENGER** \- An Immortal, calls himself Methos, dedicated to spreading the word of peace among other Immortals. 

**WILLIAM EVERETT CULBRAITH** \- cruel Immortal, ran Andersonville, the infamous Confederate prison camp during the Civil War. 

**JEFFREY** \- A young runaway slave that MacLeod was trying to link up with the Underground Railroad so he could join his fiancée up North. 

**HARRY THE BOAT MAN** \- briefly appears, want to sell Mac a sailboat. 

* * *

Deserted Alley 

It's dark; he's too late-   
The E-Z Store's closed,   
Richie Ryan is pissed,   
He's alone and exposed,   
Returns to his bike,   
He'd better pull out,   
When the Buzz lets him know-   
There's an Immie about. 

A shadowy figure-   
From darkness emerges,   
Rich gets his sword,   
His adrenaline surges,   
He hears, 'Do not fear,   
You will not be harmed,   
I just want to talk,   
I'm not even armed.' 

'Yeah, right,' Richie thinks,   
'I want to talk peace.'   
Richie waits for this guy's-   
Babble to cease,   
'C'mon bud,' says Rich,   
'You know the drill,   
We meet, we draw swords,   
We fight and we kill.' 

'That's what we've been taught,   
But what if it ends?   
What if we could-   
Live in peace and be friends?'   
'Who _are_ you?' asks Richie,   
'Methos is my name,   
The oldest Immortal-   
Alive in the Game.' 

His voice has a gentle-   
Tranquil quality,   
'It's up to you-   
How this will be,'   
He kneels before Rich,   
'You can take my head,   
Or you can think-   
About what I've said.' 

The Wharf 

'Where is your friend?'   
Asks Harry of Mac,   
'Richie's here when he gets here,'   
Duncan smiles back,   
He's checked out the boat-   
Harry wants him to buy-   
'She's got good lines,'   
To his long-practiced eye. 

'But she needs work,   
That's her major fault,   
Fifty grand is too much,'   
Mac chides the old salt,   
'Even forty...' as he-   
Squints into the sun,   
Harry grins, 'Give me twenty-   
And the deal will be done.' 

Just then a Buzz,   
Is it Richie at last?   
Below, stares an evil-   
Ghost from Mac's past,   
William Culbraith evokes-   
Bitter memories in Mac,   
Mac welcomes this challenge,   
'Harry, I'll be right back.' 

Flashback, The Georgia Woods, 1864 

MacLeod's helping Jeffrey-   
Escape from the swine-   
That kept him in bondage,   
If they get through this line-   
Of Confederate soldiers-   
Jeffrey knows he'll be free-   
Reunited with Sarah,   
His sweet bride-to-be. 

Their luck has run out,   
They're about to be shot!   
Mac yells, 'Jeffrey, run!'   
(Immortal he's not).   
But Jeffrey shoves Mac-   
Out of harm's way,   
His own leg is shattered-   
By the bullet, this day. 

Though civilians, not soldiers-   
They are treated alike,   
To Andersonville Prison,   
They're compelled now to hike,   
In this filthy abyss-   
Union soldiers, once brave-   
When treated like beasts,   
Beast-like, they'll behave. 

Andersonville Prison 

Jeffrey can't stand alone,   
Clings to Mac for support,   
He's attacked for his canteen,   
His features contort-   
With pain, as he limps,   
Mac assures him, his plan-   
Is to find him a doctor-   
Just as soon as he can. 

All around them, gaunt faces-   
Now vacantly stare,   
No hope, no compassion,   
Only blackness, despair,   
The sick sprawl untended,   
Some moan pitifully,   
'Who's in charge of this hell-hole?'   
Some one shouts, angrily. 

A Buzz, then a figure-   
On a catwalk is standing,   
The question is answered,   
This Immortal, commanding,   
'You have been warned!   
For any who try-   
To escape from this prison,   
Three others will die!' 

Three selections are made,   
'That's murder!' Mac howls,   
'None questions my authority!'   
At Duncan he scowls,   
'Bring him to my quarters!   
Jeffrey trembles as they-   
Lead his protector-   
Very coldly, away. 

Culbraith's Quarters 

Wife and child, in a photo,   
With hair neatly curled,   
Remind the commander-   
Of a sane, humane word,   
When MacLeod is led in,   
Culbraith gives name and title   
'Colonel William Everett Culbraith,'   
And begins his recital. 

'My guess is, MacLeod-   
You support abolition,   
I, myself, do abhor-   
Slavery's sad condition.   
On my farm near Atlanta-   
It's very well known-   
That I and my wife-   
Keep no slaves of our own.' 

'But,' sneers MacLeod-   
'You have Andersonville,   
It's a slaughterhouse here.'   
'That was not my will,   
I'm a soldier...and orders-   
Must be obeyed,   
These men have no order,   
All discipline's decayed.' 

'These men are starving!   
They should be respected.'   
'They're destroying my South!   
Order must be protected!   
Even so, I don't have-   
Enough bread to fill them,   
What do you suggest?'   
'For a start, do not kill them.' 

Outside the three victims-   
In misery stand,   
'I can't allow mercy-   
To disrupt my command,'   
The men are shot dead,   
Mac attacks unafraid,   
As the guards jerk him back,   
Culbraith whips out his blade. 

'I do not like killing,   
But I will if I must,'   
A warning to Mac,   
He'd better adjust,   
As Mac is dragged out,   
He cries futilely,   
'There's a man who's in need-   
Of a doctor, desperately!' 

The Wharf, Present Day 

Mac's getting his vengeance,   
Culbraith's gonna lose,   
They are out in plain sight,   
(One cannot always choose).   
Mac's relentless attack,   
Gives Culbraith no chance-   
To mount a defense-   
Against Mac's advance. 

His neck's now exposed,   
Mac's gonna slice through it,   
When Richie runs up-   
Screaming, 'Mac! Mac, don't do it!'   
That hesitant moment,   
Saves Culbraith from slaughter,   
He rolls off the planks...   
And escapes in the water. 

MacLeod is aghast!   
Richie begs to explain,   
But Mac roars-'He's free...   
Now he'll kill again-   
Do you know what he _is_?'   
'Mac, I don't care,   
But all of this killing-   
It must stop somewhere.' 

Rich gives Mac the message,   
He believes to be true,   
'This killing can end-   
If we want it to,   
We can all live in peace,'   
Rich pleads with such faith,   
'Can't happen,' says Mac   
'Why?' 'Men like Culbraith.' 

Flashback, Andersonville 

Jeffrey lies bathed in sweat,   
In extreme agony,   
Letting 'Mr. MacLeod'-   
Check the wound, carefully,   
Jeffrey talks through his pain,   
How his plans will go forth,   
How his Sarah awaits him,   
Where Mac led her, up North. 

'We've picked the name, 'Duncan'-   
For our first born son,   
In gratitude for-   
All the good you have done.'   
But Mac has bad news-   
What he has just seen-   
'Jeffrey, your leg...   
I'm sorry, it's gangrene.' 

'The leg must come off,   
Or infection will spread,   
But you'll be all right,'   
(Mac mops the boy's head)   
You'll still marry Sarah,   
Have kids, and go places,   
'Only I won't be beating-   
Them in any races.' 

'Hang on, now Jeffrey,   
A doctor, you need,'   
He goes back to Culbraith,   
This time, to plead,   
'He's just a scared boy.'   
'You're the cause of his sorrow...   
But if my surgeon's free,   
He'll see him tomorrow.' 

Mac tells this to Jeffrey-   
Shivering on the cold ground,   
Others moaning nearby,   
Little campfires, all 'round,   
Jeffrey tells MacLeod, 'Thank you,'   
For the gift that he gave,   
'I may be a prisoner,   
But I'm not a slave.' 

Culbraith's Quarters   
Next Morning 

MacLeod's voice outside-   
Shows his temper has blown up,   
The surgeon for Jeffrey,   
Hasn't yet shown up,   
A letter for Culbraith-   
'From your brother-in-law,'   
Has Culbraith's attention,   
It rips his soul raw. 

His wife and the children,   
All have been slain,   
No pity for the North,   
Or their followers again!   
To MacLeod, he says coldly-   
'Your request, I deny.'   
MacLeod says, 'This boy-   
In agony will die!' 

'Agony is what-   
This war is about!'   
He motions the guards,   
To throw MacLeod out,   
'At least, begs MacLeod-   
Give me a knife-   
So, I can attempt-   
To save the boy's life.' 

That too, is denied,   
Mac lunges once more,   
But the guards have no trouble-   
Knocking him to the floor,   
No food and no rest-   
Have, without doubt,   
Taken their toll,   
He's easily heaved out. 

The Prisoner's Area 

No relief can Mac offer,   
The pain's unabating,   
Mac holds Jeffrey close,   
All the time, he is hating-   
Culbraith for allowing-   
This suffering to endure,   
But Culbraith will pay,   
Of that, he'll make sure. 

Jeffrey's last wish,   
Begging with a hoarse voice,   
'Please make it stop,'   
MacLeod has no choice,   
With love and with tears,   
And heartache for life lost,   
Mac snaps Jeffrey's neck,   
At a terrible cost. 

The Dojo 

'Mac,' Richie says,   
'You aren't aware-   
What made him like that,'   
'Rich, I don't care!   
He isn't just _bad,_   
He is totally evil,   
Not misunderstood,   
He deserves no reprieval.' 

'You don't _talk_ to evil,   
You must persevere-   
And destroy it completely,'   
But Mac, 'It's through _fear_ \-   
That evil exists,   
That's Methos's theory,'   
'Methos??' asks Mac,   
'Did I hear you clearly?' 

To a dubious MacLeod-   
Rich relates at some length-   
'Methos's' great wisdom,   
His depth, inner strength,   
'Listening to him-   
Is like hearing a saint,'   
Now Mac's truly stumped,   
'Cause a saint, Methos ain't. 

Mac insists, 'He is wrong!   
Whatever he said!'   
'But to live without fear...?'   
' _What?_ With no _head?_ '   
Richie's hurt by Mac's tone,   
His reluctance to buy it,   
'I don't understand you...   
You won't even _try_ it.' 

When Richie stalks out-   
He's mightily miffed,   
Then a Buzz from the loft-   
Hits MacLeod, in the lift,   
He goes on alert,   
Friend or foe, he is clueless,   
Till he sees, on his bed-   
There is Methos sprawled shoeless. 

'Cold beer's in the fridge'   
Calls Methos, inviting,   
'I know, it's my fridge,'   
Mac answers, not biting,   
'I thought you were wandering-   
The world, for excitement,'   
'Yeah, Tibet...ate yak butter,   
Had my fill of enlightenment.' 

From Methos's clutches-   
Mac grabs his remote,   
Turns off his stereo-   
To confront the old goat,   
'What is this crock-   
Drop your sword, let's have peace?   
Show only love-   
And the fighting will cease?' 

'Wow, so he's here!'   
' _Who_ 's here?' Mac is tempted-   
To wring Old Guy's neck,   
'The other 'Methos'...pre-empted-   
My name, we've not met-   
But I heard of the clown,   
His message to Immortals-   
Is 'put your swords down'' 

Methos places his boots-   
On the counter, Mac moves 'em,   
Methos tosses Mac's coat,   
Mac lifts it, reproves him.   
'Turning your cheek,'   
Says MacLeod, 'gets a slap.'   
'But it has a nice ring-   
Kids fall for that crap!' 

Mac observes, 'Richie has.'   
'Voilà!' Methos crows,   
'Rich thinks he's a prophet.'   
'He might be, who knows?   
If he wants to play _me,_   
I've enough enemies,   
If they take his head...fine!   
What will I do with these?' 

Methos means his boots,   
Worn down by the miles,   
'Craftsmanship! Gone!'   
But Mac's used to his wiles,   
'You'll inform Richie that-   
His guy's fake, do you hear?'   
'Why should he believe me?'   
'Cause you'll be sincere!' 

Joe's Bar 

He looks twenty-five-   
But acts seventeen,   
Yet five thousand years-   
Of history, he's seen,   
Rich wants to believe-   
Mac and Joe are all wet   
This dork, the real Methos ?   
'What you see's what you get!' 

Five thousand years-   
Of wisdom? No way!   
Methos just grins,   
So, he's not old and gray,   
Rich insists-'Not the name,   
But the message he preaches,   
That's what's important,   
The peace that he teaches.' 

'He offered me his _life._ '   
Mac: 'Too scared to fight?'   
Methos: 'Knew you wouldn't take it?'   
Richie says, 'Oh yeah, right.'   
'One's born every minute,'   
Methos won't sweat it,   
Richie: 'Mac, of all people,   
I thought you would get it.' 

Richie walks out,   
In his wake leaves depression,   
Mac's going for Culbraith,   
Joe gives the impression-   
That he'll do some research-   
On the Methos paradox,   
The real Old Guy's plans?   
To shop for some socks. 

The Wharf 

Culbraith is busy-   
Checks his boat's mooring,   
When he feels a Buzz-   
That he can't be ignoring   
There, walking toward him-   
The counterfeit 'Methos',   
Seeking a convert-   
To his brand of ethos. 

When he opens his coat...   
To Culbraith, it's shocking,   
No sword 'Methos' carries,   
'You're a fool!' Culbraith mocking,   
'If you kill me,' says 'Methos'   
'We cannot discuss-   
The source of your pain-   
How it's molded you thus.' 

'Methos' knows his mind,   
Why he did what he did,   
His family-wiped out-   
In the church where they hid,   
'Union soldiers set fire-   
To it on Holy Ground.'   
'You killed to stop hurting,   
Yet no peace you've found.' 

'Methos' puts his hands-   
In a comforting way-   
Upon Culbraith's shoulders,   
'I can help to allay-   
Your suffering, and give-   
The relief you've desired,   
Don't kill anymore,   
That is all that's required.' 

Before the mood gets-   
Even more warm and fuzzy,   
They sense an Immortal's-   
Approach, very buzzy,   
MacLeod has tracked down-   
His old enemy,   
The pretender grabs Culbraith,   
'This does not have to be!' 

'So _you're_ the new prophet,   
I've no time to chat,   
When I take his head-   
We can talk, how 'bout that?'   
The Messenger cautions-   
'You don't have to do this,'   
Shielding Culbraith, he says-   
'His pain drove him to this!' 

'If Darius saw this,   
Would he be proud?   
'He loved you,' the Messenger-   
Says to MacLeod,   
Mac remembers how Darius-   
On that battlefield, said,   
'Does it matter who won,   
To the men lying dead?' 

'Darius convinced you-   
That warfare is futile,'   
Mac says, 'If I stop,   
Someone will be _more_ brutal.'   
'Will _you_ be that one-   
Who will not cease the killing?'   
Mac backs off and leaves,   
Albeit, unwilling. 

The Messenger's Garden 

The Messenger's tending-   
His blooms so exquisite-   
When his brash alter-ego-   
Pays him a visit,   
'Tell me,' smiles Methos,   
'Did you know Socrates?   
And Queen Cleopatra...   
Was she really a tease?' 

The Messenger speaks,   
His replies vague and senseless,   
Methos draws his sword,   
'Right now, you're defenseless...   
Many people would relish-   
Taking such an old head,'   
'Many others might want-   
To hear what the head said.' 

The real Methos counters-   
'From all that I hear-   
You believe there's no evil.'   
'That is right, only fear.'   
'So if Hitler's mother-   
Played more with her baby-   
The world would be different?'   
Says the Messenger, 'Maybe.' 

Says the fraud, 'Can't we end-   
This Game we all play...?   
I think it's worth trying.'   
'Are you willing to pay-   
With your head?' Then the Messenger-   
Says, 'I believe-   
Long life has no point-   
If it fails to achieve.' 

Methos says, 'Just to live-   
For it's own sake's worth while,   
'We can talk about that,'   
Says the fake, with a smile,   
'Sorry,' sighs Methos-   
'I've somewhere to be,'   
'I did not get your name,'   
'No, you didn't,'quips he. 

Joe's Bar 

'He's either delusional,   
Or, he's a fraud,   
One speech from the Wise One,   
You stand and applaud,'   
Methos rants on-   
At MacLeod's hesitation,   
'What's next? Friendship rings?   
A Love Boat vacation?' 

'He just made me think,'   
Pouts MacLeod, getting vexed,   
Methos says, 'Think too much-   
And you will be next-   
We can't afford   
Any more on the list,'   
'What list?' Asks MacLeod,   
About to get pissed. 

Joe's done some checking-   
'This 'Methos' flake-   
Has left a long trail-   
Dead Immies, in his wake,   
They lay down their swords,   
Buying into his act,   
But the next Immie doesn't,   
Then the good one gets whacked.' 

'Then,' Methos says-   
'Our gentle brother-   
Continues his mission,   
Persuading another,'   
'Well, I'm not a convert,   
That won't be _my_ fate,'   
Mac's sure of himself-   
But will Rich take the bait? 

Church Steps, Later 

'I want to stop killing,'   
Says Duncan, 'I know...   
Rich, evil exists-   
We cannot let it grow,   
If we do nothing-   
Good's soon overthrown.'   
States Rich, 'I must make-   
This decision, alone.' 

The Messenger's Garden 

Rich observes the pretender-   
From a wooden lawn chair,   
Though it's bothering 'Methos,'   
Richie's brought his sword there,   
'Go home Rich,' he urges,   
His voice smooth and steady,   
'You'll give up your weapon-   
When you are ready.' 

Rich: 'Do you hate fighting-   
'Cause you're scared of dying?'   
The pretender decides-   
Richie needs edifying,   
He easily defeats-   
Richie's efforts with skill,   
'I know _how_ to fight,   
What I _won't_ do is _kill!_ ' 

He tells Rich, 'You must-   
Believe in yourself,   
Your faith gives you strength,   
Leave the sword on a shelf,'   
Rich yearns so deeply-   
To put away killing,   
Not to spend half his time-   
In practice and drilling. 

The Loft 

Rich didn't come for-   
Dinner with Mac,   
Isn't there for a workout,   
But to give his sword back,   
'Think about this,   
Rich-it's part of your core,'   
'No, Mac, not me,   
Not anymore.' 

The Messenger's Garden 

Culbraith's been drawn-   
To this place, at this hour-   
In search of...not peace,   
But 'Methos's' power,   
'I know that I reached you,'   
Says the prophet, serenely,   
'I uncovered the pain-   
That you feel so keenly.' 

'William, a big-   
Mistake you're committing,   
To kill one unarmed,   
Who is kneeling, submitting,   
I do not believe-   
This is your heart's wish,'   
'BELIEVE!' counters Culbraith,   
And his weapon goes, 'Swish!' 

Dojo Office 

Mac, Methos, and Joe-   
Debate Richie's choice,   
Methos opts to do nothing,   
Joe retorts, (fervent voice)   
'He's gonna get killed!'   
Mac adds, 'For his sake-   
I taught him survival,   
Now it's his choice to make.' 

The Messenger's Garden 

Culbraith sitting, hands folded,   
In the Messenger's chair,   
Seeing Richie's arrival,   
He arranges his snare,   
'How are you managing...'   
(Says he to deceive),   
'Without your sword?'   
(Knowing Richie's naïve). 

'Faith,' declares Richie,   
Looking for the Old Guy,   
'And you?' Culbraith sneers,   
'No faith have I!'   
Rich sees he has blundered,   
Now truly alarmed,   
Culbraith draws his sword,   
And Richie's unarmed! 

Dojo Office 

Dawson's expounding,   
'Some guy comes on strong,   
Stop the fighting and dying,   
Sure, Rich goes along,   
But it's a mistake,   
The results won't be pretty,'   
Says MacLeod, 'Then he'll make it,   
It's about integrity.' 

The Messenger's Garden 

Richie's backed up,   
Culbraith deviously-   
Advances on Richie,   
Saying, 'Previously-   
I listened to 'Methos'-   
Right up to the end,   
Will you give me a fight-   
Or cave in like your friend?' 

Dojo Office 

Methos walked out,   
Thought a while, then came back.   
He's recounting a story-   
To motivate Mac,   
'This Spanish guy,   
Faced the Inquisition-   
Just had to say 'No,'   
Very simple admission.' 

'They took all he had,   
His fortune, his land,   
Racked his body with torture,   
But he maintained his stand.'   
'What happened?' asks Joe,   
'Died screaming, in fact,   
Convulsing in agony,   
His integrity, intact.' 

He's pushed Mac's last button,   
Mac: 'Don't save my seat!   
Let yourselves out,'   
Dashes out, in defeat,   
Integrity be damned!   
He can't ignore Rich,   
Joe to Methos, 'You're a calculating-   
Son of a bitch!' 

The Messenger's Garden 

Richie's lesson is bloody-   
It's war and survival,   
He's wounded and losing,   
As they sense the arrival-   
Of another-MacLeod!   
'You can't interfere!'   
Culbraith warns Mac,   
But that's not why he's here. 

This is Richie's battle,   
All Mac can do-   
Is throw Rich his sword,   
Richie runs Culbraith through,   
MacLeod turns away,   
He cannot, so it seems-   
Stay and witness the end-   
Of his friend's cherished dreams. 

The Quickening hits Rich-   
With its powerful blast,   
He's filled and surrounded-   
By ghosts from the past,   
Forlorn, nameless spirits-   
From Andersonville,   
They tormented Culbraith,   
Maybe now...they'll be still. 

The Loft, Later 

Mac's brought Richie back-   
To the true One and Only-   
Methos! The Old Guy,   
Impressive? Baloney!   
Rich wistful, mourns the other,   
'Never knew his real name,   
But despite everything,   
He was good, just the same.' 

Methos gets up,   
Leaving Rich to his mope,   
'Old timer, any wise words?'   
Replies Methos...'Nope.'   
Rich and Mac, now alone,   
Richie thanks him again,   
So much deep affection-   
Binds these two men. 

'I leveled the field,   
That's all I did.'   
Rich must hit the road-   
To escaped from the kid-   
That sometimes he feels-   
He becomes with MacLeod.   
Who knows how much time-   
Even Immies are allowed? 

'If you don't find the answers,   
Keep looking,' says Mac,   
'I will,' assures Richie,   
Then MacLeod calls him back,   
'Be safe' No good byes-   
Just a peace sign, imbued-   
With hope, 'You too, Mac'   
Now for each, solitude. 

Peace, Emit   
© 2002 

**_Under the Kilt_ from Highlander: The Official Site: **

Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production   
'As far as Post, I started to play around with Stephen Pepper-who was the artist that I worked with most of the time-on doing a kind of desaturated bloom on the image when we did flashbacks, but not transitions, so it was a remembrance as opposed to a flashback. I liked creating that kind of look. That became kind of a motif for us in doing these white flashes and blooming out the image and desaturating it and then whiting out and becoming a new image.' 

**Ken Gord, Producer**   
'I think this was a show that could have been better and I don't know why it wasn't. But we did a great job of Andersonville. Also, this is the disco Quickening. The guys in Post took Richie's Quickening and put it to music; it's a great bit of film. Stan has a good sense of humor, so he was the first guy to laugh.' 

~ The Valkyrie   
  
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